She Is Me by Cathleen Schine

own eyes flutter as she attempted to keep them open. She heard Harry calling.
    “Mommy! Where’s my mommy?”
    She saw Elizabeth blink, then turn her head.
    “Okay. I’m here with Grandma.” Greta heard Elizabeth say this, though she spoke softly, too softly for Harry, surely, who was now wailing from inside the house.
    Greta closed her eyes. If she closed her eyes, Elizabeth would think she was asleep and could go to Harry without guilt. She wanted to thank Elizabeth for fixing the umbrella. But all she could do was close her eyes and release her.
EXT. PERFECT FARMHOUSE—EVENING
    A celebration. Music, dancing, champagne . . . little children running among the elegantly dressed guests . . .
    EXTREME CLOSE-UP of a magnificent three-tiered wedding cake . . . the camera pans slowly up as if scaling a huge mountain . . . on the top WE SEE the figurines of the bride and groom . . .
    Suddenly, a HUGE KNIFE slashes into the cake . . .
    Lotte held out her hand for the mug of hot water. She forced her finger through the handle. “What that filthy arthritis did to my fingers . . . it should be executed . . .”
    “So where’s Norma?” Elizabeth said.
    Lotte looked away. People had no sense of privacy anymore. “Oh, she had to leave. You know how they are.”
    “Grandma, did you fire her?”
    “The tea is too hot, darling.”
    “It’s not tea.”
    “It’s water, Grandma!” Harry said.
    Elizabeth sat on the sofa and hung her head.
    “Why, why oh why, did you fire Norma?” she said.
    “Her food stank. To high heaven! How can they eat all those dirty spices? I don’t understand these people. Come, Harry, sit with Grandma. And the amounts? I would get sick as a dog if I ate what she ate. Mountains of food. Enough for an army. It was frightening! I was frightened, Elizabeth!”
    Lotte started to cry. Harry slid off the chair and reached for his toy trucks on the floor. I wasn’t really frightened, Lotte reminded herself, drying her tears, but I was certainly revolted.
    “Did she force you to eat her mountains of smelly food?” Elizabeth asked.
    “Oh! God forbid! She made me nice chicken soup. A little fillet of sole. Mashed potatoes I like, too . . .”
    Elizabeth went into the kitchen and came out eating a banana.
    “It’s not ripe, darling,” Lotte said. “It’s green. You’ll get a stomachache. God forbid.”
    “So, like, what kind of housekeeper would you like, exactly? You have to have someone, Grandma. You can’t do it yourself. That wouldn’t be fair to you. You deserve a little help after all these years, don’t you think?”
    Elizabeth was a thoughtful girl. But the hair . . .
    “Honey, why pull your hair back like that? Such beautiful hair . . .”
    Elizabeth turned the air-conditioning up.
    “Is that okay? I don’t know how you can stand it. It’s so stuffy.”
    She took Harry into the bedroom. Lotte heard the television. I still have my hearing, she thought. I still have my goddamned ears.
    “Elizabeth, why don’t you marry that nice husband of yours?” Lotte called from the living room.
    Elizabeth returned. “I don’t know. And he’s not my husband. And why do I have to? What difference does it make? Why does everyone care so much?”
    “Such a nice man.”
    “Maybe you need a husband, Grandma. Instead of a housekeeper.”
    Lotte gasped. “My husband, Morris, was my husband. No one could take his place. Men are pigs.”
    “There you go.”
    “My poor mother used to say what everyone needed was a wife. And you remember, Elizabeth, if that husband of yours ever gives you a hard time, let alone raises a hand to you, he should drop dead, you just turn on your heel and walk out. You remember your Grandma Lotte’s advice.”
    When Elizabeth and Harry had gone, Lotte stood by the window and looked out at the street until her legs were too sore. She sat stiffly in her chair and turned on the television. Cartoons. She fumbled with the remote, attacking it with her index finger, which was